Together we scramble down the mound of kitchen waste, our clothes smeared with pulp and gravy and entrails.
A boy is waiting for us in the stables, Flint’s bow and two sets of reins in his hands. The horses he’s selected are not the large, snow-white, red-maned creatures belonging to the Court of Flames, but two brown mares, who nicker softly as we approach. Our supplies are stowed in a pair of leather satchels fastened to the gleaming saddles.
The stable hand frowns as he takes in the sight of us. ‘Food fight?’
Panting, Flint shakes his head, slinging his bow and a quiver of arrows over his shoulder. ‘We came down the scrap chute. There was an attack by the Ventalla King. Everyone else is still inside. They’ll need help – water, bandages.’
He holds out a hand to help me mount the smaller of the two horses, but I bat him away impatiently before sticking my foot in the stirrup and heaving myself up.
‘Thank you, Caleb,’ Flint says, swinging himself on to the other horse. ‘I’m in your debt.’
Caleb hands him the reins. ‘Anything for you.’
‘Anything?’ I hear the smirk in his voice.
‘Flint,’ I hiss, incredulous.
‘Fair point, sister. Time and place.’
Caleb stands aside and cocks his head towards the stable doors. ‘You know, if you two die out there, they’ll burn me alive.’
‘Not planning on it,’ I tell him, digging my heels into my horse’s flank.
The clopping of hooves echoes loudly on the cobblestones as Flint and I turn our backs on Fire Mountain and set off across the barren plains.
I gaze out at the endless rocky wasteland and breathe it in – the scent of hot stone, fresh air and freedom. For this is the first time I’ve ever been anywhere not trapped behind walls, stuck inside a carriage, or surrounded by guards.
This is the first time I’ve ever beenfree.
The horse is fast and sure-footed, and I grip on tightly with my knees, half exhilarated, half expecting to lose my balance and go tumbling to the ground. My hair has come loose from its braids, dark curls streaming behind me, and when the ghost of a smile tugs at my lips, I let it bloom there. Riding feels like flying, and I like it.
We travel at lightning speed, Flint occasionally shouting instructions about my posture or my grasp on the reins, and constantly craning to look over his shoulder as we skirt bustling towns and villages. Eventually, when he’s confident that we’re not being followed, we slow the horses to a gentle walk. Flint reaches into one of the leather satchels and pulls out a waterskin, which he tosses to me. I catch it clumsily with both hands, letting go of the reins in the process.
‘We’ll make an equestrian of you yet,’ my brother says as I lean down and grab them again.
I flip open the stopper of the waterskin and take a long drink. The back of my throat still burns from the smoke.
‘How’s your eye?’ I ask Flint.
‘Lonely,’ he replies.
We soon reach a cluster of rocks a short distance from a gurgling hot spring. Flint slides nimbly from his horse and walks round to help me.
‘Stop fussing,’ I say, ignoring his outstretched arms as I swing myself down.
Only my legs feel as though they’ve turned to liquid, and give way as soon as my feet hit the ground. Flint sniggers. This time, I accept his hand.
‘Ouch,’ I say, registering the dull ache in my limbs, the stiffness of my hips.
‘You’ll get used to it.’
‘Speaking of riding,’ I begin as we lead the horses into the cool shadow of the rocks, ‘what’s with you and the stable boy?’
Flint stares at me. ‘Really? That’s what’s going on in there?’ He raps his knuckles against my head. ‘We’re currently fugitives after narrowly escaping an attack by King Balen, and you’re thinking about me and the stable boy?’
I shrug. ‘Just wondering.’
Flint drains his waterskin. ‘He’s a friend.’
